Meet: The Ladies Most Unlikely

Once upon a time there were three little girls who went to a ladies' academy...

 Georgiana Hathaway - "an unrepentant, wicked girl"

The middle child of seven, Georgiana is accustomed to causing trouble just to be noticed. Sadly, even then, her busy father often fails to recall her name, and resorts to "Esmerelda" or "Jezebel" when in a hurry to admonish her.

 Georgiana spent a happy childhood in the Norfolk countryside, but her ambitious father - a widower, newly remarried to a much younger wife - has uprooted his family from their beloved home and moved them to a new, fancy house in London. Here, as the owner of a successful newspaper and a printing business, he hopes to expand his fortune and improve his status. In this pursuit he is aided by his new bride, who is extremely keen to be accepted by grand society and determined not to let Georgiana's bad behavior embarrass them.

 And so, when the opportunity arises, the second Mrs. Hathaway eagerly suggests to her husband that he send his troublesome daughter away to an academy for young ladies. There, so she tells him, Georgiana will learn proper behavior and meet other young ladies of "better" society. Most importantly of all, sent off to boarding school, she will be out of her stepmother's way.

 But will she also stay out of mischief? As a natural ringleader with a lively imagination and something that her stepmother calls "a contrary disposition", she has soon formed a friendship with two other young ladies and is eagerly leading them into trouble. They're very fortunate, as she assures them,  that they have her to keep them off the straight and narrow.

 

Melinda Goodheart  - "a robust young lady known to be competitive at the expense of grace and decorum."

The only daughter of an impoverished Baronet who makes an art out of never paying a bill, Melinda has been sent to the Particular Establishment for the Advantage of Respectable Ladies for one reason only - to catch a rich husband. Her father has made it clear that she's not to come home again until this goal has been achieved. But Melinda has few ladylike attributes and very little inclination to study. Soon bored at school and restless for more than life seems prepared to give her, she is thankful to meet a fellow adventurous spirit in Georgiana.

Melinda happily goes along with anything that promises entertainment and is seldom bothered by the consequences - as long as she's had her fun first. The only potential she sees in her future is a hat shop, since she's heard that "When all other avenues of pleasure and expression are closed to her, a lady may resort to the comfort of Desperate Millinery." Of course, she must find a rich husband first to help fund her venture - one who is also corrupt enough not to care about the many disgraces of her family.

 

Emma Chance - "the most sensible, solemn young woman ever abandoned by her parents."

As a newly-weaned babe, Emma was left at the ladies' academy by a gentleman who wished to remain anonymous. Thus she was abandoned to the questionable care of the school proprietress, Mrs. Lightbody, who never lets her forget that she's a charity case. Emma has no expectations of ever marrying. She has no dowry and no parent willing to claim her. The only respectable option available to her is to one day become a governess - a prospect that horrifies her. Bullied and belittled for most of her childhood, she never had a friend until Georgiana and Melinda came to the school and took her under their protection.

Now, fiercely loyal to her friends, she would do anything for them. Although never a troublemaker herself, she will not allow them to go on any misadventure without her.  After all, somebody must be the voice of reason and it is always her hope that she can prevent utter calamity from befalling her dear friends in their desire for excitement.

 

As she softly teases the other two women, "Some of us might be daring enough to ride down a banister, but most prefer the steadier progress of steps to arrive at our destination with a little bit of dignity."

 

Get to know more about "The Ladies Most Unlikely" in the first book of a new series - The Trouble With His Lordship's Trousers, coming NEXT WEEK.

 

Jayne Fresina- copyright 2016
Amazon Author Page

 

 

LADIES MOST UNLIKELY

Hi there! Spring is almost upon us, and to celebrate I'll be welcoming the season with the first book in my new Regency romantic comedy series The Ladies Most Unlikely.

This light-hearted series will follow the fortunes and romantic misadventures of three friends, who met and formed an unshakeable bond while they were unhappy students at a London finishing-school for young ladies.

Georgiana Hathaway, Melinda Goodheart and Emma Chance all come from very different beginnings (yes, a bit like Charlie's Angels!) but they all have one thing in common - a love for adventure and a desire to do something unexpected with their lives.

As students at The Particular Establishment for the Advantage of Respectable Ladies (sometimes called The PEARL), they were each expected to conform with the Regency era society's ideals for proper young ladies. And they all failed, quite spectacularly, to come up to standard. The school headmistress, Mrs. Julia Lightbody, calls them bad apples, a blot on the reputation of her academy - the ladies least likely to make good matches.

Thus they become The Ladies Most Unlikely, and as they go out into the world, society had better be prepared.

As Mrs. Lightbody says, "Of all my pupils you three are the very worst. A bad lot. Destined to go down in infamy."  

And Georgiana happily agrees. After all, as she is fond of saying, "If one must go down in something, it may as well be  the good ship Infamy."

The first book in this series (The Trouble with His Lordship's Trousers) will tell the story of outspoken, inquisitive Miss Georgiana Hathaway and Commander Sir Henry Thrasher - a war hero, who once spent two and a half years shipwrecked on an unchartered island, has been declared dead twice, and has a distinct aversion to decent clothing. And nosy young ladies.

So how does this odd couple meet? I'll leave you with a hint.

"Here before her was a legend— a man knighted for bravery, and much admired for his valor and steel-spine fortitude. She had eagerly devoured the Commander's heroic Naval exploits in her father's paper, where it was written that even bloodthirsty, lawless pirates held "Dead Harry" in high regard.

The man was a national institution, and she had just felled him with her inconsequential and shamefully airborne buttocks."

* * * *

Author's note: Please be warned, or assured (depending upon your personal preference), that The Ladies Most Unlikely series contains scenes of mild sensuality, but I have decided to leave these particular heroines with a little more privacy. It is not, therefore, erotica, but romance that might just make you blush a tiny bit - when you're not laughing.

While leaving some scenes to the reader's imagination, I hope also to leave you wholly satisfied with the story, the characters and their outcome. I don't believe you will find anything lacking.

Thank you for reading!

Jayne

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Last Rake Standing - excerpt

He’d faced the sizeable dilemma of a wife for some years, but never found what he was looking for. His stoutly, opinionated mother, on one of her recent, unannounced, military-style assaults, had reminded him of two important facts.  First, he needn’t expect to be happy in marriage. Second, a Craven heir to the Penhale estate could only be made with the help of a legitimate wife, however tiresome he might think the whole ordeal.

 

“Find yourself a bride, William. Beget an heir and your life will not have been entirely wasted.” He was, she reminded him, a blight on the family escutcheon. But at least he didn’t have to get out of bed to create an heir. “With your reputation to consider, I have no high hopes of a great match, but there must be someone who can overlook your failings.”

Finally, to end her nagging, he promised to bring home a wife by Christmas. He’d set about the process at once, but, like most things, it was not going as smoothly as he’d hoped.      Tonight, when his fellow Elysium Club members were scornful of his likely success in this endeavor, William went a step further, under the influence of several very good brandies, declaring he would, in fact, wed his bride by noon on Friday. The wager, written in ink, was now irreversible. It wasn’t the money that troubled him, but the loss of pride should he fail. William Craven had never lost a wager in his life. Therefore, he could no longer procrastinate.

Previous engagements had come about purely by mistake, or accident, and lasted no more than a few days. They also usually resulted in some bodily injury to himself, which, while taking him by surprise at the time, seemed inevitable upon further reflection.  Might even be part of a pattern. The Duke’s long-suffering valet, Gudgeon, had suggested that his master honed a talent for sabotaging his own engagements. William insisted he was cursed.

Sadly, he met very few women deemed suitable bride material. The good, harmless sort wisely steered clear of William Craven, while there was always a distressing surfeit of hazardous females in his vicinity. He recently lamented this fact to Gudgeon, who calmly suggested his master might want to go outside during the daylight hours and visit a few places previously unexplored, such as a park or a church. It was advice William heard, even recalled from time to time, but it was damned hard to break with routine.

And there was always a certain stubborn idea in his mind. A small, angry face that peered at him through a mist, refusing to let him seriously consider any other woman.

Falling into his carriage somewhere around the region of five in the morning, he sprawled against the button-tufted leather seat and was just closing his eyes for a nap when it happened.

It was the red he saw first. Like a spark of flame in a dry, dead forest, her crimson scarf caught his attention through the moon-licked, rain-washed carriage window, bringing an abrupt end to his sleepy contemplation of the street. Otherwise, it might have been just another dreary homecoming from a night on the town, familiar in its predictable routine, even if it had little else to recommend it. But that warm shot of color amid the dawn slurry disrupted everything and woke him from a torpid stupor as effectively as an alarm bell.

            William tapped his knuckles on the carriage roof and the horses jibbed to a shuddering, snorting halt. Briefly, he considered the mistake he was about to make by involving himself in a matter that was not really his fault, but something very unusual and particularly bothersome forced him to stop the carriage. Much to his amazement, he conceded it must be his conscience, an item previously notable for its absence, wheezing to life.

            He lowered the sash window and rain spat in his weary face. Better take the umbrella, he thought, fumbling for it in the shadowy carriage interior. It seemed the careless woman didn’t have the foresight to bring one out with her, nor wear a hat.

            Lurching out of his carriage, he looked for the woman in the red scarf. She was exactly where he last saw her, at the edge of the pavement, under a gas lamp, only slightly more attractive than a drowned rat. The front of her coat was splattered with wet mud and slush, which had also splashed her face and darkened the loose ends of her brown hair. As he approached, William anticipated the first strike of her tongue. He’d had plenty of practice bracing for the wrath of a vengeful woman. No one’s feet were stomped upon by angry little heels quite so many times as his, no one’s face slapped so often. And upon whom else’s head should china ornaments be broken, if not the Duke of Penhale’s? He was usually the most convenient enemy.

            But then she said, “Forgive me,” tearing his expectations asunder.

So, she hadn’t yet identified him as a rogue of the first order who could ruin her reputation just by looking at her and probably ought to have his face slapped before he got any ideas.

            She was breathing too hard, her skin pale as the departing moon, her eyes very large. “I wasn’t looking,” she added. “It was my fault.”

An interesting development. Cautiously, his insides uncurled, but only a little. She could, of course, be up to something. Women generally were. He held the umbrella over them both, although in her case it was too late for that. The creature couldn’t get much wetter if she fell off Tower Bridge.

“Your coat.” he muttered. “You must allow me to have it cleaned, madam.” She was probably in shock now, but would send him a bill later with a solicitor’s letter. Once she knew who he was, she would certainly expect monetary compensation for her coat.

“That really isn’t necessary, sir. Excuse me.” Her voice was polite, well-modulated, but quite insistent, rather like a very proper, faintly impatient schoolmistress.

“Perhaps you would rather I buy you a new coat. That one is rather unflattering, ill-made, and distinctly shabby.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“And it looks as if you outgrew it some years ago.”

Her lips flapped. Finally, she sputtered, “Excuse me. I’ll just take my ugly, cheap coat and be on my way.”

When he didn’t move out of her path, she swept him with a wintry glare, cold and brisk.  Her lashes were lengthy as the legs of a wily spider, plentiful as those of a centipede. Oh yes, there would definitely be a solicitor’s letter tomorrow. Perhaps she was already calculating an outrageous claim for the cost of her clothing, her shoes, her non-existent hat. For some spurious injury too, thrown in for good measure. Once she realized who he was, his reputation would inspire all manner of accusations.

Nudging him aside with her pointy elbow, she would have run off, had he not captured her wet sleeve in his fingers, tugging her back.

“Please accept the services of my carriage, madam. I can deliver you safely to your destination at a much greater speed. And in the dry.”

There! He wouldn’t give her the slightest chance to complain later that the Duke of Penhale treated her in any way other than gentlemanly. His mother, not to mention his solicitor, would be proud of him for thinking of the consequences for once. If that was, in fact, what he was concerned about, rather than getting this bedraggled waif into the private quarters of his carriage.

“I don’t generally accept rides from strangers.”

“Nor do I offer them to strangers. It seems we must both be on our guard.”

She looked down the street. “It’s not that far.”

“It’s a very unsafe hour for you to be out alone, madam.” Before she could pull her sleeve away, he tightened his grip. “And it’s raining.”

“A little rain never hurt anybody.”

“On the contrary. The obituaries are full of stubborn women who probably said the very same thing before influenza sent them to an early grave. Not to mention the scores of tragically trampled females caught airily daydreaming in front of fast horses. The Times has an entire section for them.”

She looked up, only as far as his lips, then immediately back down to his waistcoat. “You might be a kidnapper, an abductor and molester of innocent women.”

“You might be a highway robber, or a woman of ill-repute. Or an infamous body-snatcher. Now that I think of it, you could be all three. You have the face for it.”

“Face for it!” she exclaimed.

“Plain and unremarkable. Nondescript in a crowd and just innocent enough to fool justice.”

Her lips fell apart and he watched a little cloud of breath disperse around her mouth.

“As long as you don’t try to pick my pockets, I’ll resist my rapacious urges, madam,” he added dryly.

“Oh, for pity’s sake!” Snatching her arm away from his grip, she marched forward, leaving him to follow with the umbrella, like a servant.

He ran around her to hold the carriage door open, noting a very shapely ankle as she stepped inside; then he followed, closing the umbrella and shaking it, before he pulled the door shut.

 

(copyright Jayne Fresina 2016)

 

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How To Rescue A Rake

Today is release day for book three in my Regency series The Book Club Belles. This time the ladies of Hawcombe Prior book society are reading Miss Austen's 'Persuasion', and the story resonates most powerfully with Diana Makepiece. She's had her share of disappointments and regrets, so she feels a great kinship with the heroine, Anne Elliot.

With which of Austen's heroines do you most identify?

(Picture of the Duchess of Devonshire, by Sir Joshua Reynolds)

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

The year of 2015 has been a fabulous one for me, to put it mildly. I've succeeded in getting more books published than ever before and embarked on a new Victorian family saga which I love writing. I've also been lucky enough to have one of my books bought for Portuguese translation which has expanded my fan base to Brazil and made me some wonderful new friends there too.

Perhaps the biggest personal achievement this year has been my decision to give up my day job and begin writing full time. It was not an easy decision to make -- in fact it was downright scary -- but I am so glad I took the plunge. Now I can devote more of my time to putting out the stories I want to write and that readers, hopefully, want to read.

Now, heading into a brand new year, I'm looking forward to seeing where the world of publishing will take me next. First up is the release of HOW TO RESCUE A RAKE (January 5, 2016), which will probably be the final book in the Book Club Belles series I wrote for Sourcebooks, Inc. I'll be sad to say goodbye to those characters, but I'm very happy with how Diana's story turned out so I think it's a satisfying end to the series. Who knows, there might be another at some point, but that really depends on readers and on the publisher.

I'm also continuing THE DEVERELLS saga, of course, with stories from more children of the notorious True Deverell -- and maybe some other relatives too. You'll have to wait and see who's next!

Another light-hearted Regency era series will be revealed in 2016 too - The Ladies Most Unlikely will emerge to wreck havoc this spring in THE TROUBLE WITH HIS LORDSHIP'S TROUSERS. So looking forward to that one!

All things considered 2016 is looking busy, bright and...dare I say it ...bouncy.

I hope the new year is full of good things for you. As we wave goodbye to 2015 and set off together into more adventures between the pages, I wish all my readers every happiness for the year ahead.

Jayne

Merry Christmas!

If you're looking for a little escape this season, you can pick up A PRIVATE COLLECTION from All Romance E-books for FREE today and tomorrow (December 24th and 25th). Thank you for reading and sharing my adventures with me!

https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-aprivatecollection-1914045-340.html

Chasing Raven - exclusive excerpt!

Well, in all the excitement last Wednesday I forgot to check in here with the excerpt I promised! Here it is now....

            He watched Raven Deverell across his carriage and cautiously considered, once again, the dangerous extravagance of everything about her— from the rich darkness of her hair, to the blossoming shape of her lips, the thickness of her eyelashes, the fullness of her figure. Too much of everything, he mused. What was it that man at the ball had called her? A handful. No, she was more than a handful. She was an over-spilling, cartload of trouble, teetering along without a sober driver and about to lose its balance.

            He had given her fair warning about that young cad, Bourne, and that should be it. There was no need for him to follow her out of the ballroom and continue the conversation.
            Yet here they were.
            Usually his thoughts came in a sensible, reasoned flow, but tonight the cogwheels of his mind were frustratingly stuck upon the image of this woman in riding breeches.
            "This is most kind, your lordship," said her mother, leaning forward as the amber tongue of a passing street lamp licked her face. "I'm sure it was a misunderstanding with the gentlemen from whom I borrowed the landau." Her gaze slid sideways to her daughter, who stared out of the carriage window as if the rain was the most enthralling sight she'd ever seen. "We must thank you for saving us so gallantly and going out of your way."
            He bowed his head. "It is no trouble, madam."
            Her smile widened, and she raised a white-gloved hand to her hair, patting the neat arrangement of auburn waves. "We must repay the favor."
            Lady Charlotte was still a handsome woman. In the season of her 'coming out' she had been the most sought after debutante in Town. And then, when she could have had anyone, she eloped with the notorious True Deverell, turning society inside out. The marriage did not last long, and the couple lived separately for years before the costly and scandalous divorce was finally acquired. How must that have affected her daughter?
            With a reputation in ruins, the divorcee might have slunk away into oblivion, but her former husband apparently kept her nest feathered and she still had a handful of acquaintances willing to help her. It seemed she also had little sense of shame and a powerful instinct for survival.
            Her daughter was equally self-assured and unapologetic, he noted coolly.
            In the darkness of the carriage interior, Miss Raven Deverell filled his senses, a pulsing, vibrant creature, a mischief maker who had broken a rule to interfere in his serious sport. Well, since she had laughed at the idea of an apology, he would show her how it felt to have one's day spoiled.
            "Your daughter and I met earlier today, madam. At Bourne Lodge in Richmond."
            Now the young woman tore her attention from the window and glowered at him. In the darkness of the carriage interior, her face was in shadow, but he saw the gleam of anger in her eyes. Eyes that he knew now were the richest shade of green one might find in the depths of a primeval forest.
            "Oh?" said her mother. "I did not know this. Raven?"
            "You knew I was with Matty Bourne today, mama," she replied, her gaze lowered as she smoothed her hands over her lap and studied her silk gloves.
            "But I thought you were spending the day at a picnic in Hyde Park with a small group of friends. That's what you told me. You said your brother would be there."
            "We changed our mind. The picnic was called off, because it looked like rain. So Matty took me to his father's house to show me a new horse. I knew we'd be back in time for the Winstanleys' ball, and I really didn't think it would signify where we spent the day."
            There was a thick pause and then Hale muttered, "I must say, madam, I was rather surprised to see your daughter unchaperoned at Bourne Lodge." He was thinking again of a certain pair of riding breeches. Who had got her in and out of them?
            That was more bothersome now, he realized, than the trick played against him.
            Her mother chided the girl. "Really you should have told me, Raven. What must Bourne's father think of you running about, unchaperoned, with his son? Going to his house alone with him." But Hale saw at once that she only made this protest for his benefit. She looked across the carriage for his reaction rather than her daughter's.
            He wondered if Lady Charlotte knew where her daughter was most of the time, let alone what she was getting up to. On the other hand, she could be complicit in her daughter's games. Hale had met many an ambitious mother and witnessed a variety of tricks used in hopes of an entrapment.
            Hale cleared his throat and looked out at the rain. "I believe Lord Bourne is soon to be engaged, is he not?"
            "I wouldn't care if he was," Miss Deverell replied. "He and I are merely friends." The next words burst out of her on an angry breath. "I do have some friends, surprising as it may seem to you, sir."
            He frowned. What the devil was that supposed to mean? "I just wanted to be sure you knew. To save you any...distress. Should you have any expectations—"
            "I never do. It is the safest way to protect against disappointment."
            After a slight pause, he said, "They have yet to make an official announcement, but it is a settled matter, I understand. By this winter he will be married to Miss Louisa Winstanley."
            "What business can it be of yours?"
            "Raven! Moderate your voice, young lady!" her mother cried. "I'm sure I did not know that Lord Bourne is soon to be engaged! Now I do, you shall see no more of him." The lady squared her shoulders and exhaled an angry huff. "We've been wasting our time in that quarter, evidently."
            "Matty Bourne is merely a very good friend, and I shall see him if I choose."
            "Indeed you shall not! There are other men more worthy."
            Fuming silence descended over the carriage interior, the two women making their chilly stance on opposite ends of the seat.
            Hale, meanwhile, silently congratulated himself. Mere friends, indeed! Whatever had been between them, at least he had put a stop to that now.
            He did it for her own good. Not that she would understand or be thankful.
            Too soon they arrived at the door of Mivart's Hotel, and he stepped out to help both ladies alight from his carriage. A lamp outside the building cast a wide pool of shimmering, molten gold across the pavement and as Raven passed under it, she turned her head to look over her shoulder, those lively eyes defiant.
            "Perhaps you would take tea with us here, your lordship?" her mother inquired as he opened his umbrella for shelter. "Sometime next week." The wide smile once again stretched across Lady Charlotte's face. It was a rather chilling expression, actually, now he saw it clearer. Her eyes were very dark and cold, not like her daughter's warmly inquisitive, teasing regard. Even when Raven's eyes were angry he would rather have their heat making him sweat, than suffer the frosty bite of her mother's hard gaze.
            "Regretfully, madam, I am not staying in town."
            "I thought, since you were at the ball tonight, you might stay for the rest of the Season."
            "No, madam. I had some business to tend at the Winstanleys', but I go into the country again tomorrow. Back to my estate." Back to the familiar, he thought with relief, and away from quarrelsome young women with pert tongues and firm bottoms.
            "What a pity," Lady Charlotte exclaimed. "But when you are next in town then."
            Making no commitment, he looked beyond her to where Raven stood by the street lamp, that dark hair a gleaming, lush mane over one shoulder, her chin proudly raised. She chose to get wet in the rain, instead of stand under the protection of his umbrella. The dampness did nothing to dispel her terrible allure. Some men, he was quite sure, would be utterly undone by the sight. Weaker men than he, of course.
             "Miss Deverell, you dropped this." One arm slowly outstretched, he offered her the small beaded reticule that had fallen from her wrist while she fidgeted irritably in his carriage.
            Her lips parted, shining damp in the lamplight. "Oh." Finally she took it from his hand. "Thank you."
            Hale almost smiled, but restrained himself from giving her any encouragement. Wouldn't want her to think he had any interest of that nature. She was a wicked brat looking for trouble, but at least he had served her a warning not to meddle in dangerous wagers ever again.
            Hopefully, he had served her a warning. At least, he thought that was what he'd been doing with her.
       

* * * *

             Alone in her bed chamber, Raven sat at her dresser, opened her reticule and found a bank cheque written for one thousand pounds. His handwriting was very neat, very orderly, and there was his signature.

            Sebastian Rockingham Hale.
            The tall, sloping pillars of the "H" were grandly struck against the paper by a determined, confidently wielded pen.
            So he had paid the wager, but left it in her hands. Why give it to her, instead of Matthew? She looked at her reflection in the mirror and shook her head. There was nothing to be gained by trying to understand that man's motives. She would likely never see him again.
            Slowly she ran a fingertip over his signature.
            What did Matty call him? A self-righteous prig. Exactly right!
            Perhaps the Bourne family had asked Hale to intervene and separate her from their son?
            Her shoulders slumped. She rested her elbows on the dresser, her head in her hands.
            She was not in love with Matty, so she could not be genuinely angry about his potential engagement. But she could be exceedingly cross about an officious man she'd only just met trying to manage her life, spoil her fun, and tell her what to do. As if she was a child. Nobody else had ever got away with that, so why should he?
            "It's a very good thing that you don't own me, your lordship, and I don't have to listen to you."
            "Would you listen to me if I did own you?"
            He was possibly the oddest, most vexing and interfering man she'd ever met in the entire course of her life.
            When she buried her face in one puffed silk sleeve, she was surrounded by the richly spiced scent of a very distinctive cologne water.
            He had marked her, she realized, appalled. He had marked her all over as if he did, in fact, own her. Or he planned to.

 ####

          

From 'Chasing Raven' - The Deverells Book Three. (copyright Jayne Fresina 2015)
This is the latest installment in a Victorian family saga.

'Chasing Raven' and the two previous books, 'True Story' and 'Storm' can be purchased by clicking on the cover images shown on this blog.

Thank you for reading!

Jayne